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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28725384">Technicolor Beat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/indyluckycharlie/pseuds/indyluckycharlie'>indyluckycharlie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff and Smut, Public Foreplay, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:07:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>991</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28725384</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/indyluckycharlie/pseuds/indyluckycharlie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A night out dancing (very little plot, not gonna lie).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Technicolor Beat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! This is my first time posting here, woot!</p>
<p>This story idea was inspired by my friend, who suggested I write some smut when I was unsure what to write. She offered up the prompt words: slick, tight, and pounding. And I was very tempted to use them in the least sexual way I could think of (oil slick, tight-knit, pounding headache)😁But I think I stayed true to what she had intended. Also, I never actually thought I’d use the word keening, but here we have it folks. </p>
<p>Additionally, it is important to note that this is written and intended to be a consensual encounter (which I believe is VERY obvious in the story), however, Bucky comes up from behind and the reader never actually looks at him, so I want to be mindful that this may be uncomfortable/triggering for some people. </p>
<p>Finally, I previously posted this story to Tumblr and you can find more of my work over there at the same user name. I plan to move all of my Mature content here. I'm looking forward to being part of the community here!</p>
<p>The header image below is from Jerome Govender via Pexels with editting by me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><hr/>
<p>Even with your eyes closed the strobing lights burn strange shapes into your retinas. Sweat beads on your throat, your back, your thighs. The throbbing bass running through your blood matches your heartbeat and the swing of your hips. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You don’t know how long you’ve been dancing, you don’t really care. You could go on forever like this. The music is a spell that seeps into your bones, holds you captive. And you are a willing hostage. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As you twist and writhe on the dance floor, you brush against the bodies amassed around you. You feel both at-one-with and separate, tied together by the music, whirling in your own orbits. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Until something cold presses against the hot skin of your back. You can feel the chill through your thin shirt and you know. You’ve felt this touch before, would know it anywhere, <em> have </em> known it anywhere. You don’t even have to look. In fact, you decide not to. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When his breath brushes against your ear, you don’t turn your head. Whisper turns to heated chuckle. That’s fine with him. He likes this game too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The touch at your back shifts to your waist and though you turn your gaze resolutely away, you catch a glint of metal from the corner of your eye. Cool on one side, warmth on the other, both hold tight, pull you in snug. And he slips smoothly into your rhythm, matches the sway of your hips. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eyes closed, you lean your head back, let it rest on his shoulder, complete that long line so you’re pressed full against him. Then, a tilt of the hips and you press back even more. Heat flares where there was already fire. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A growl and a tightening of fingers pull a smug smile across your lips. But not for long, he won’t stand it. Lets go of one hip and slips his hand down to the edge of your skirt. Heated fingers wander up and under until they find a lacy edge to run along. Follow the line until they find what they’re looking for. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Your breath catches in your throat as he teases, grazes lightly over sensitive skin. Something curls tight and hot inside you. He likes to tease and you love him and hate him for it. But he’s a good boy, never leaves you waiting too long. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Delicate lace tears easily in impatient hands, crushes under fevered feet. Greedy fingers slide easy, when the welcome is so warm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The music’s pounding beat reverberates through him and into you. Hips and hand rock in perfect rhythm, until you’re panting, moaning through bitten lips.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You lift your hand to his head, curl your fingers in his hair, tug firm. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Let’s go </em>, it says. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Now </em>, it says. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He nods and his hand pulls away. You whimper from the loss of it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Until fingers dig into your hips, pulling you back tight against him, promising you something much better. You whimper from the feel of it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Half-lost already in the haze of him, you stumble forward. He catches you and when you’re righted again, he follows where you lead. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You skirt past sweat slick bodies, sneak behind a curtain, find somewhere dark and sheltered, find something solid to hold onto. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A tick of your head says you're ready, a shift in your stance says you're waiting. The soft shick of leather against metal and your spine curves instinctively, a purr fills your throat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wastes no time at all, he’s as impatient as you. You don’t have to guide him, he knows the way. And the passage is made easy with your wanting. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His hands did their work well, one thrust and you’re already keening. He presses deep and you’re on your toes. One indelicate tilt and you’re over the edge. A ragged cry breaks from your lips, and you clench tight around him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But you’re not done, and neither is he.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pulls back, murderously slow, rocks back, languid. A thin whine escapes you. You think you might die, but he does it again. Stills this time. Then, does it once more, twice, three times and you’re nearly sobbing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His own breath shudders and your desperation makes small room for smugness. But he chases it away with a snap of his hips, his rhythm suddenly fevered. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You don’t bother to hold back the sounds forcing their way from your lips. No one can hear in this din. You can’t find it in you to care anyways. He echoes your excitement with his own raspy groans. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A coil tightens inside you, taut and ready to spring. Sparks skip and jump through your nerves. Your breath leaves you as he pulls himself hard and flush, holds himself still and tight once more. His fingers slip home again, make small quick circles. A silent cry catches in your throat. Then explodes out of you as his thrusts turn frantic once more. His own sounds are feral, sending you higher. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Abruptly, the coil breaks and lightning blooms behind your eyes, races from where he presses hard inside and against you, runs down your every vein. You tense, grasping blindly onto anything to steady you. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few strokes more and he’s breaking too, spilling sticky, fills you up. You fall loose against him. His arms wrap around your middle. You pant, hoarse and ragged, his breath matching your own. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Long minutes later, he shifts back carefully, holds you steady on shaking legs. Pulls something from his pocket. A handkerchief. Always the gentleman, always prepared. He swipes it gently between your thighs and you let your head roll back to rest on his shoulder. He straightens your clothes, then fixes his own. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sighing, he wraps his arms around you again, sways you softly. You hum. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A soft kiss on your neck. His voice in your ear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Home?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Over your shoulder you press a hand to one cheek, a kiss to the other. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You read my mind.”</p>
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